Part of Me
by bertiebert
Summary: A sweet kind of love existed between the couple and there wasn't anything they would change about their relationship.


**_So... I absolutely adore France and Russia as a couple and I had the idea for this fic (it's really just smut with a bit of background) a week or so ago. Enjoy and review!_**

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><p><em><strong>Part of Me<strong>_

It was as if someone had decided Ivan would struggle with love from the very beginning of time. He couldn't make friends with any of the nations, they were terrified of him and he didn't know how to act around them. They confused him in the ways they acted and spoke. So he resigned himself to working to become a superpower so that maybe he could force them into friendship. If he was powerful, they would want protection and a good relationship with him, right?

During the cold war, Ivan was glad to at least have an enemy. Alfred fought him tooth and nail to get into space, and Ivan will admit that he was crushed when he failed to send a man to the moon first. 1969 was a bad year for Ivan. It was the following year though that someone smoothly inserted himself into Ivan's life and refused to leave. Like Ivan was going to make him.

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><p>Ivan's hips ached and his thighs quivered, but he just whined appreciatively. The one pressing kisses to his face smiled against the skin of Ivan's jaw and gave a particularly well-aimed thrust. The Russian's hips lifted of their own accord and he moaned unabashedly. Francis smiled wider, nuzzling Ivan's jaw up and mouthing at the scars on Ivan's neck. He delighted in the shiver and the way Ivan stretched his neck to bare more of the pale skin to his lover.<p>

They'd been together for decades, seemingly perfect for one another. Ivan's broad stature and fierce protectiveness complimented Francis's delicate frame and easy affection. No one had asked about them when Ivan had first kissed Francis on the cheek in front of the entire G8 Conference. They figured having all ten fingers was better than being clued in on the relationship.

Their relationship wasn't perfect, no relationship is perfect, but they hardly ever fought. Francis was good at soothing Ivan's frayed nerves and Ivan could heal Francis's wounded ego like no one else. No other nation was ever that attuned to their needs and desires. It mystified them that someone could understand their personalities so well.

Francis knew just how to make Ivan cry out and beg when they had sex. He knew that Ivan loved to be fucked with his hips in the air and shoulders on the bed, but Francis eased him into other positions. He just loved looking at that devastatingly handsome face as Ivan came, pale cheeks flushing scarlet and kiss-swollen lips forming a perfect 'o'. There was nothing more beautiful than that.

"_Oh,_ Francis, yes. Right there," Ivan whimpered, attempting to spread his legs further apart and rock into the thrusts. "_Ahh."_

"Here, _cher?_" Francis teased, aiming his hips just so and squarely hitting Ivan's prostate.

Ivan practically wailed as his orgasm took him by surprise and he choked out little unintelligible sobs as he gripped Francis's shoulders tightly. Francis cooed at him, swiping little beads of sweat from Ivan's forehead and kissing the corner of his mouth. When Ivan was a bit more himself, chest heaving with labored breaths, he cradled Francis's face between shaking hands worriedly.

"You didn't finish."

It wasn't a question, but Francis shook his head almost embarrassedly. Ivan nudged his shoulder and Francis withdrew. The Russian couldn't hide the wince, but didn't let Francis dwell on it. He pressed the Frenchman into the mattress, rolling the condom off Francis's still hard length. Just the slightest touch made Francis's hips roll up into Ivan's hands. Ivan smirked, tossing the condom towards the trashcan and gripping the narrow hips gently.

The moment Ivan took Francis into his mouth the Frenchman groaned obscenely and tossed his head back against a pillow. That lithe back arched off the plush mattress and slender hands gripped the headboard. It took only a few minutes for Francis to come, with Ivan's tongue working the underside and head of his erection. Contrary to popular belief, Francis came quietly. He gasped, spreading his legs and pushing his hips against Ivan's face. The Russian relaxed his throat and took Francis deeper, swallowing around him as Francis came in his mouth.

Francis's legs shook and he panted softly, but reached out for Ivan. The afterglow had to be their favorite time. Both of them were sated and spent, pliant and calm. Ivan tucked himself against Francis's chest, holding the smaller man tightly around the waist as Francis drew random patterns on his back. Soft fingertips smoothed over raised scars and pockmarks, but they did so reverently and in a way that made Ivan purr.

There had been a long discussion about their scars and how they felt about them when they first got together. Francis found Ivan's scars absolutely sexy and yet felt a pang in his chest whenever he found Ivan stroking them disgustedly. Ivan loved to lave his tongue across Francis's scars, kissing each one and mapping out their trails across and around Francis's body. They came to an agreement that they hated their own but loved each other's scars.

Despite Ivan's belly being sticky with his release, Francis cuddled the larger man close and kissed him on the forehead. He knew Ivan desired simple affection more so than sex. Living in such a cold climate with such a fragile mental state, Ivan had become starved for touch over the centuries. Francis was all too willing to make up for the lack of attention. He kissed Ivan whenever he saw him, stroked his face and hair, or at least tried to make the man smile.

By the time Ivan dozed off, making a soft snuffling noise in his sleep, Francis carefully eased himself out of the bed. He retrieved a warm, wet cloth from the bathroom and cleaned Ivan up. Any other time the slightest movement or noise would have woken Ivan, but in Francis's home he knew that he was safe. Francis pulled the covers up over Ivan's frame, kissing his forehead softly. He pulled the door just slightly closed after shrugging into Ivan's shirt. Padding down the hall, Francis ruffled his hair and stretched languidly. He needed to send a few emails before going to bed and desired nothing more than a glass of water. Ivan really took it out of him, not that he was complaining.

Just as he hit send on the last email, his study door was pushed open. Ivan, in only a pair of pajama pants, squinted drowsily at him. Francis smiled at his lover as Ivan swayed slightly and stood from his desk. He rounded the antique and approached Ivan who blinked slowly.

"Why are you up, _ma douce?_ Did you need something?" Francis crooned, reaching up to stroke Ivan's hair out of his face.

"_Nyet. _Came to get you." Ivan mumbled, English clipped and always mottled with Russian when he was tired.

"I'm coming, darling. Go on back to bed," soothed the Frenchman, running a hand down Ivan's bare chest.

A slight shake of his head and Ivan drew Francis closer. "Come back to bed."

"I'm thirsty, _amour._ I'll be there in a moment—" Ivan's mouth covered Francis's own and he melted into the Russian's strong arms.

"We'll get water together. I want to make sure you come back with me. You need rest," Ivan fretted, always so concerned when it came to Francis's health.

"Alright, come on," Francis sighed but linked his fingers with Ivan's.

He eyed his lover's frame out the corner of his eye and mentally groaned. Ivan was gorgeous, that much was evident in the sinewy muscle and slight padding around his middle. There wasn't a freckle on Ivan's skin that repulsed Francis. He felt himself become hard again and gritted his teeth to the point of pain. Ivan sensed Francis's change in emotion and worriedly touched his waist as Francis took down a glass from the cabinet.

"Are you feeling alright?" Ivan asked, smoothing his big hands across Francis's flat stomach to hold his hips gently.

"Yes, I'm fine, Ivan. You don't need to worry so much. It's not good for you. Now," Francis gripped his glass of water tightly and smiled at his lover. "Let's go back to bed."

After he drank most of the water, sitting up and letting Ivan rest in his lap, Francis leaned over the Russian and smiled.

"You look very sleepy, _amoureux," _he remarked as his hands slid across Ivan's padded stomach.

Ivan practically purred, arching up into the touch and smiling up at his lover. Francis grinned tiredly, leaning down to kiss Ivan's broad nose.

"You are so beautiful, _Vanya._ Never think anything different. You take my breath away," Francis cooed, stroking Ivan's face and delighting in his sleepy smile.

They rearranged themselves, cuddling in close and Ivan dozed as Francis reestablished his soothing motions. It was a sort of calming ritual for them. There was little Ivan loved more than to curl up with Francis's soft, long-fingered hands drawing patterns over his abdomen. He was quickly losing the fight against consciousness with the warmth of Francis's hand on his waist, but his lover just collected him into a gentle embrace to sleep. A soft breath against his forehead followed by a brush of lips was the last thing Ivan felt before he slipped into the abyss that sleep welcomed.


End file.
